Insane Like The Wolf
by BipolarMolar
Summary: An angsty Brouglas one-shot, with dark themes, dubcon and bottom!Brendan. I know, I'm surprised too. Please review if you liked it:)


**Title: Insane Like The Wolf**

**Author: BipolarMolar**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Inspired by an internet meme (which is apparently a concept that spreads via the Internet. This one was an Insanity Wolf one- you have a photo of a rabid-looking wolf and something mad for it to say, normally something quite tasteless and controversial, but amusing. This meme was "Girlfriend is reconnecting with ex. Fuck him first: Establish dominance." So, yes, in this Brouglas, bottom!Brendan piece, Ste is the "Girlfriend"(sorry, Ste). This fic is my first (but not last) bottom!Brendan fic, and also I think the first time I switch POVs? So when the second half has Doug referred to as Douglas, that's because it's Brendan's POV and that's what he always calls him. Please review to let me know if you liked it. Oh, the line, "The bastard had made him bleed!" was inspired by the Simpsons, funnily enough, where the school bully got beaten by a smaller kid and said in shock "You made me bleed my own blood!"**

He was losing him. Doug was losing Ste to Brendan. Losing his boyfriend to a psychopathic, drug-dealing murderer. No contest.

Ste couldn't help it. That was his problem: he cared too much. Despite everything, Ste still cared deeply for Brendan, still wanted him to be happy. Doug knew he shouldn't resent him that, but the thing that got him, really made him feel like a poker-hot blade was being twisted in his gut, was the expression Ste wore when Brendan was talking to him.

Eyes sparkling with amusement or wide with concern. Ste would smile at Brendan or scowl at him, or just stand there listening while Brendan was talking to him, and he'd get this look on his face.

Like Brendan held all the answers. Like he was staring right into Brendan's soul. Like nothing else except Brendan Brady mattered. The "Look of love" as people call it. It sickened him.

But there was little he could do; he was as powerless to intervene as Ste was powerless to Brady's charm. Doug was aware that whenever he did try to pull Ste closer, really, that just sent him further away. And every argument with Ste, every trivial squabble or lover's tiff, had Doug shaking, because he was afraid that one argument may push Ste too far, sending him back into Brendan's arms.

"I can't let that happen." Doug firmly told his reflection one morning, as he put on his best shirt and made sure he hadn't missed any spots shaving. He knew what he had to do. He was going to speak to Brendan Brady.

There wasn't a shirt expensive enough or aftershave strong enough to give Doug the bravery he needed. His stomach was churning, despite feeling hollow, and his hands (to his horror) were trembling, so he took a nip of vodka. It made his eyes water, the way he downed it hurriedly(he wasn't much of a drinker) but after a few more sips, he was grateful for the glowing warmth now in his stomach, and the feeling of strength the alcohol had supplied to him.

His walk to Chez Chez was confident, a far cry from, Brendan's cocky strut, but the reckless courage coursing through his veins was enough to make him take those last few steps and open the door.

He immediately spotted Brendan, sitting at the empty bar with his back to Doug. The sound of a pen scratching on paper and Brendan occasionally muttering was all that could be heard. It was a vulnerable position for Brendan, and Doug still felt emboldened by the Smirnoff beverage, so he approached him.

Doug tried to be quiet but could tell by Brendan lifting his head up a fraction that the Irishman had heard him.

"Douglas." But the name was voiced dismissively, Brendan not even bothering to look around as he continued to write. Doug glanced over his shoulder at the work but it was all dates and figures, the input/output table of Chez Chez, and not very interesting.

"You're not busy, are you?" Doug plucked up a bottle lid off the bar and flipped it with his thumb, catching it in his hand. Then he set it down on the bar again and flicked it, causing it to spin like a top. Brendan's hand suddenly slapped down on the bar, trapping the lid under his palm, the sound of skin on the hard surface sounding harsh and final.

"I'm _very_ busy, Douglas. Just say what you have to say and then scram."

Ok. He'd been expecting that. Doug took a deep breath and the words came out in a rush.

"Ithinkyou'retryingtostealSteawayfromme andIwantyoutostop."

Brendan swivelled on the barstool to face Doug, a frown in place. "Huh?" he said, scratching at his brow with his pen lid.

Doug tried again, not feeling any calmer. "You're trying to take Ste away from me," he said. "And I want you to stop."

There was a few seconds silence, an impasse, no-man's-land, where both men just stared at each other without words. Doug knew he had just managed to shock Brendan Brady, and part of him couldn't help but feel good about it.

But then Brendan raised a mocking eyebrow, and his lip curled into a sneer, exposing sharp white teeth, and Doug's heart dropped like a stone. He'd thought a Brendan Brady death-glare or punch would be the worst thing the man could throw at him, but this nauseating smugness was pushing his buttons…his hands twitched, the fingers wanting to fold into fists, no matter how calm Doug was trying to seem. He knew Brendan was aware of just how much he was angering Doug, enjoying it probably.

"Go on." Doug snapped, snatching Brendan's pen off the bar so he could hold it, passing it through his fingers. The muscle memory movement was the only thing preventing him from reaching across to slap Brendan across the face. Brendan didn't deserve a punch. A punch meant grudging respect, and Doug had no respect for Brendan. Maybe sympathy-once-but not anymore.

"Hm?" Brendan wore a mysterious close-lipped smile, as if he was seeing into Doug's mind and marvelling at the secrets inside, as he watched Doug with lazy blue eyes.

"You didn't answer me." Doug reminded him hotly, his voice sounding far too high-pitched and reedy than he would have liked. He wanted to be composed and in control, articulating his anger in perfect clipped tones, but he'd never been they kind of man, and Brendan just had a knack for getting under his skin.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brendan answered back, reaching behind him to lay a hand on his sheet of paper. The movement caused his chest to strain against his shirt, and Doug's eyes were drawn to his bare throat, but then Brendan drummed his fingers on the paper in a bored sort of way, and the mood shifted.

"I suppose I didn't realise you were asking a question…"

"I wasn't asking a question but I still wanted an answer-"

"..But I'm going to have to say no. Sorry, Douglas. Tsk. You're sweet and all that, but Steven's worth fighting for- so may the best man win."

Doug could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He'd always hoped that Brendan would realise how bad he was for Ste, so would bow out gracefully, leaving Doug to continue his relationship. But this…

And seeing Brendan sitting there smirking, condescension in his words and arrogance in his eyes- well, it was just too much for Doug. He acted without thinking.

0o0o0o

Brendan's world spun as his head snapped back. The audible click of his bones rattling in is skull and on his spine, and the smack of skin colliding, almost hurt as much as the pain itself, which was shooting through his body, from his face, down to his neck, where the muscles jumped in shock.

He'd hit him. Brendan couldn't believe it. The little fucker had hit him. I'm going to kill him, Brendan vowed, probing gently at his own lips to feel hot blood cling to his fingertips. The bastard had made him bleed.

Brendan let loose with a snarl and a fist, punching Douglas hard in the face and feeling sweet satisfaction at the pained groan the younger man gave as his hand flew up to protectively cradle his sore cheek. Brendan was breathing heavily, his heart jumping in excitement- his blood was singing in his veins at the exertion, this spontaneous show of violence- animals and chemicals-it had been far too long since he'd let his fists _fly_-

Smash.

Douglas had punched him again and _fuck_, he punched like a pro for such a whiny little _shit_, where did he pick up moves like that, a puny American boy with a bad taste in jumpers? Brendan wasn't happy with that, and he descended on the man with a flurry of fists and kicks, even using his teeth to bite hard on Douglas' hand, feeling skin sliding over knuckles under his jaws.

_The blood is up_, that's what they say, isn't it? Brendan reckoned his blood must be up because he fancied he could feel it swim through his arteries, perhaps the red stuff was mourning the loss of its brothers- blood on his chin, his lips, his knuckles, welling up from cuts as Douglas gave it his all.

_You're poison,_ Douglas was saying, _you're toxic, evil…_but Brendan never replied, putting his energies into the fight.

At some point, they'd crashed to the floor, still connected by fistfuls of shirt and clawing fingers and the whole bloody thing seemed to be on fast-forward because they were constantly moving, each cry of pain Brendan dragged from his opponent was like a glowing talisman to clutch to his chest, bolstering his ego through the pain.

At last, Brendan had the upper hand and _damn_, it had taken him too long. He had Douglas trapped beneath him- the American had put up a good fight but Brendan Brady never lost.

It wasn't Douglas' fault. Well, it _was_ for trying to start a fight he couldn't finish. The only reason, Brendan thought that Douglas had held on for so long in their desperate grappling was because of his anger. His fury had fuelled his body, had shielded him from the worst of the injuries until the red haze would fade. Brendan knew; he'd experience the same feeling himself.

Brendan smirked down at his prisoner, straddling Douglas' legs and using his weight to keep him in place. Raised his fist for one good punch.

And then Douglas kneed him in the crotch.

Brendan gasped, then swore with a strength that made the windows rattle, curling up in the hatefully pathetic foetal position, with both hands covering his groin. His face scrunched up in agony and his hands clamped around his private parts, he must have looked stupid, but Brendan didn't give a _fuck_, his cock felt like it was ready to drop off.

"Fucking…bastard…" he managed to grate out, in between breaths. "I'll…fucking…kill you…"

Rather sensibly, Douglas said nothing, although Brendan thought he heard him snort in amusement.

Brendan inhaled in through his nose, as another wave of pain gripped him, rolling onto his back with his legs spread. It was a weak position he knew, but Douglas could only have a death wish if he kneed him again, and lying on his side with his thighs closed was putting pressure on his tender crotch.

Eyes still screwed shut, Brendan tried to rub some life back into the affected area and yes, he definitely heard Douglas laugh then. He paused in his actions long enough to crack open an eyelid to give Douglas a warning reptilian glower. "Don't fucking laugh at me!" he warned but Douglas just laughed harder.

It was apparently something to do with Brendan's accent (Douglas wheezed out "Fecking" between bouts of giggles) and Brendan tried to ignore him as he cupped his crotch, thinking happy thoughts of slamming Douglas' head into the wall, as he waited for the pain to subside.

Eventually, the black blobs in his vision lifted and he no longer felt like his genitalia was on fire. Brendan took a few steadying breaths, then (with caution) rolled over onto his knees, splaying his hands flat on the floor so he could get to some sort of standing position.

Before he could do that though, Douglas was suddenly on top of him. Literally on top of him. Brendan wasn't sure whether Douglas had draped himself over him, or just dived onto him with a mental shout of _Geronimo_, but before he could respond, there was a weight of a fully-grown man on him, making his arms buckle until Brendan's face met the floor, effectively pinned down by Carter.

Brendan had to admire Douglas' sense of timing; even though he wasn't thrilled about having the man curled over his arse and back. Brendan bucked like a wild horse, grinding his teeth like a wayward stallion, muttering curses under his breath but Douglas held onto him, not once breaking his grip.

"I'm going to fucking kill you." Brendan muttered, as he spat blood on the floor. "Just thought-you should know."

"It's nice to have ambition." Douglas answered, adjusting his grip on Brendan. Brendan immediately tensed and alarm bells rang in his brain when he felt Douglas' hand finds its way to the front of Brendan's trousers.

"The fuck are you doing? If you hurt me there I _swear_, Douglas, next time I won't retaliate by kicking you down there, I'll cut the damn thing _off-_oh!" Brendan jumped as he felt Douglas' fingers rub at his crotch in the gentlest of touches, soothing rather than aggravating the sensitive flesh. Douglas hummed encouragingly in his throat; Brendan could feel the vibrations from where it was pressed against his nape, with Douglas' head tilted and his nose nudging Brendan's ear. Douglas didn't seem to have any intentions to move, but he continued to knead Brendan's groin, the friction warming him through his trousers and the pain abating completely. Brendan wrinkled his brow, not sure whether to offer thanks or curse merry hell. He still had big plans for Douglas' face to meet his fist, but at least his dick and balls weren't in danger of parting company with his body. He was rather attached to them and not just physically!

But Douglas didn't stop there. His fingers continued to tease over Brendan's groin, until the Irishman was squirming, shying away from the touch, and then those fingers were dragging Brendan's flies down so Douglas could properly get his hand on Brendan's cock.

"_What, what are you doing?"_ Brendan roared, appalled, biting back a moan as tingling tendrils of pleasure snaked over his cock, all because of those talented fingers. Douglas didn't answer him although he did make a pleased sound as he succeed in enticing a moan from Brendan's lips.

Brendan's body was disloyal to his mind: against his will, an erection was making itself known, and every sound of pleasure Brendan tried in vain to restrain, just motivated Douglas more as he touched Brendan with an eager hand.

There was something (Brendan was trying not to think about) pressing against his arse, and he hated how Douglas was apparently getting some sick pleasure from this. Brendan knew he was an attractive man, but Douglas had never shown interest before, so he guessed it was the unlikely power Douglas had over Brendan right now that had him panting in Brendan's ear as his erection prodded Brendan's back.

Suddenly, the pressure on Brendan lifted and he could breathe again, but no, then it was back, Douglas had just changed his position so he had a leg on either side of Brendan's back, so that Douglas was able to lean over and tug Brendan's trousers down.

As the material bunched at Brendan's hips, the natural response was to tilt his pelvis so the fabric could be slipped down his legs. He had to admit, with the unexpected wave of pleasure of Douglas' hand on his cock to distract him; a fuzzy cloud of arousal had formed over his brain, jamming the thought processes up effectively.

But then the hand was seizing him roughly and oh, that felt good, _yes_, he needed_ that_. Brendan released a low moan that rumbled from his throat in an ending stream, like a purr. Douglas' fingers weren't just pulling at his shaft; there was a method to the younger man's movements, the index finger nudging the slit at the head. Douglas continued to work at Brendan's cock until his fingers were thick with pre-cum. And them he withdrew his hand completely. Brendan almost sobbed.

But not for long because soon he felt Douglas' fingers again- although this time- they were at his back. Brendan stared unseeingly down at the shiny floor while damp fingers probed his buttocks, parting them with difficulty to slip a finger inside.

"Douglas!" Brendan barked and he choked as his shout caused Douglas to jump, accidentally driving his finger deeper into Brendan.

"Douglas, stop this, fuck- look, I don't know what you're playing at-"

"You're constantly trying to take Ste away from me," Douglas said simply, twisting his fingers in further- and Brendan winced. "But I'm prepared to fight too, Brendan." At that moment, Douglas tried another angle and Brendan shook as a sudden spark of pleasure flared up inside him. His body was adjusting to the intrusion and he arched up, hoping to prompt Douglas into making that part of him pulse with pleasure again.

He actually did cry out when Douglas pulled his fingers out of him, Brendan pushed back (hating himself for it) to try and keep Doug's hand connected to his body.

Feeling blood from the cuts drip down his lips, feeling his cross necklace thud against his chest to match the pounding of his heart and his hammering pulse, Brendan was struck with how exposed he felt right now. Everything felt so vivid, the intensity nearly unbearable, the gaudy green lights of Chez Chez and the delicate symphony of sounds- his own breathing, the quiet splatter of blood on the floor and Douglas' own hushed breathing.

"Why?" Brendan found it necessary to ask. "Why are you doing this?"

"You're in my way, Brendan." Douglas' voice sounded strained; Brendan had a faint idea that Douglas was touching himself, but he couldn't be certain. "I have to do this, Brendan."

Brendan tensed as he felt Douglas settle behind him, feeling warmth of Douglas' now-bare thighs on his skin. As he felt something thicker than fingers against his entrance, Brendan spoke to the floor. "He's mine, Douglas. He'll always be mine."

A few seconds of silence. Then-

"_NO!_" Douglas bellowed and the next thing Brendan knew, the American had rammed his cock into him, Brendan cried out in pain at the length stretching him open, hurting so much, and oh god, every part of him could feel it, from his head that was spinning to his fingers which were twitching, to his toes, which were curling. His body ached and trembled and needed- what? He didn't know.

Douglas' head dropped to rest on Brendan's shoulder, the younger man panting in Brendan's ear and yes, there was a satisfaction to know that even though his body hurt, Brendan was hurting Douglas when he said:

"He loves _me!_ He-uh- he will _always_ love me!"

Douglas made a low, raw sound in his throat and Brendan gave a wild laugh, licking blood off his lips. "Always will, Dougie, always will. When you kiss and fuck him at night, when-oh, you, you bastard, when you're playing happy families in your little matching uniforms-"

Douglas pulled out of him roughly and perhaps the ordeal was over but no, he was just gathering speed to collide with Brendan once more, slamming into him, forcing whimpers and moans from Brendan's throat.

It was filthy and revolting, feeling the idiotic American's clammy hands pawing at Brendan's hips, but every thrust seemed to stab into him with force, a good force, a force that was making Brendan's cock drip pre-cum on the floor and his moans grow louder.

"He's mine," Douglas grated out, the words flat from gritted teeth. "He's _mine_, he's _mine_-" Each thrust was timed with the harsh bark of _mine _until _mine_ was all Brendan could hear in-between the slapping of flesh and his own panting, mineminemine as Brendan said "No.", a hundred times. Brendan kept telling him_ no_ as he was flattened by the weight and driven forward with the thrusts, to anger the man and then Douglas' anger seemed to switch off as the giddy wave of his orgasm broke out over him- there were no declarations of undying affection, just Douglas pushing into Brendan one last time before he groaned in relief, legs giving out, falling on top of Brendan.

Brendan's indignation at being unable to come barely rose before Douglas' hand finished him off, rubbing Brendan's cock until he came hard and fast in Douglas' hand.

Limp and exhausted, Brendan turned his head so the cool smooth floor kissed his cheek. The roaring in his ears faded and his breathing softened, and he gradually became aware that the pressure on him had gone.

He opened his eyes to look up and see Douglas, who was now fully-dressed with a look of scared determination on his face. "Stay away from Ste." Douglas ordered him with conviction, before turning dramatically and ruining the whole effect by running down the stairs as fast as if there'd been a cobra in the room.

**Review to let me know if you liked it! **


End file.
